


Shoot To Thrill

by deedeejadexo



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Protective Tony Stark, Spider-Man Interacting with New Yorkers, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 16:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12774927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeejadexo/pseuds/deedeejadexo
Summary: Peter Parker is walking home from the New York City library one dreary November evening when he stumbles across three bank robbers in the middle of a heist. What is he to do? And what does Tony Stark have to do with all of this? What has he got to say about the teenagers afternoon adventure and his tendency to make rash choices?





	Shoot To Thrill

“Mr. Stark, what are you doing here?”

“Well, see, I was in the _neighbourhood_ , Spider-ling—”

“Spider- _Man_ ,” the boy muttered in correction.

“—thought I’d be _friendly_ , drop by,” Stark returned as if not interrupted, with slight mock teasing in his voice behind the faceplate, waving a gauntlet covered hand casually. “Isn’t that how this goes?”

Spider-Man jumped down from his crouched position on a beam and landed on the flat rooftop with acrobatic position and only slight pain, quirking, “hey, that’s my line,” and took a step towards the man he privately named his mentor, currently suited up in his armour and floating in propulsion in front of him.

Iron Man waited a beat before he too landed gracefully on the rooftop in front of the teenager, suit powering down and faceplate retreating to reveal the famous face of Tony Stark. “Nice work with bank robbers, kid.”

…

It had been getting dark on this dreary November day, around five o’clock in the afternoon when tenth grader Peter Parker had been walking home from the library. He’d been getting some last-minute studying done for his calculus test the following morning when he’d heard it. The familiar bells of a bank alarm ringing, people distantly screaming and gunshots in quick succession. And like a siren calling, Peter ducked past the rush of people pushing past him in haste to get away from each other, past an old used and abused telephone box and ran down a dark and empty alley, throwing his backpack against the dark green rusting dumpster and stripping off his hoodie, then t-shirt, revealing the crimson red and cool blue colour of his suit beneath it. He kicked off his pants, pulled the mask from his backpacks front pocket and pulled it on. Quickly he slammed his palm across his chest and hit the tiny spider residing there, feeling his suit come alive and pull taut over his body, clinging to him. 

“Karen?” he asked immediately as his suit came online, the flickering multimillion dollar fabric over his eyes adjusting to his preference, blocking out the background information and homing in already on the details, his default favoured settings.

“Good afternoon, Peter,” Karen’s cheerful voice greeted him in his ear. “Where would you like us to go this evening?”

“Shots fired around the corner, hear that alarm? Wherever that is, that’s where we’re headed.” He rushed in return, already shooting webbing from his wrists to the top of the walls of the alley, leaning back and gaining leverage before pulling himself forward and launching himself into the air.

The bank was indeed just around the corner, as Peter was quick to discover. He landed with soft patter of feet and fingers on the corner side of a building, directly opposite the bank, his abilities allowing him to cling effortlessly to the brick.

His eyes travelled and roamed over the building, taking in the chaos surrounding it. People – were they victims, hostages, or just simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? – were running, pushing past each other, covering their heads and bending low, big bolted security doors and windows open and some smashed in obvious disarray during the robbery. Hundreds of pieces of that familiar green rectangular paper floated in the air, littering the floor and ground inside and surrounding the perimeter. No sign of any gunmen.

“Hey Karen, where are the bad guys? Are they inside?”

Karen initiated the suit into scanning the building, the boy watching as numbers and intricate writing moved in a fast flurry across his mask in front of him, enhanced heat sensors switched on, skimming through the crowds. “Detecting no individuals inside the bank or outside with handguns or money,” she informed.

The young honorary Avenger pouted, “Damn, would’ve been awesome to catch them red handed.” He moved his head to the right, looking down the street leading away from the scene, the faint echoing sound of police sirens approaching from a few blocks away.

His eyes widened comically and enthusiastically when from this distance and height, he saw three armed men scurrying into an old dark green ’70 Chevy convertible with several large luggage bags of presumably money, if the trail of falling paper trailing behind them was any indication to go by, throwing them into the back seat as they climbed in and started the engine. Spider-Man grinned behind his mask, preparing to jump. “Got ya! Wow, man these guys must suck at hide and seek,” he commented spiritedly.

“Will we be pursuing and apprehending the thieves?” his artificial personal assistant enquired friendly.

Peter nodded emphatically, his tone excited. “We gotta! The cops won’t get here in time and no _way_ am I letting them get away now I’ve seen them.” The police officers were still too far away, it was true, they’d never get to them in time before the burglars disappeared, however the sound of their sirens was growing slowly closer as he spoke, prompting the teen, “even if we slow them down, that’s better than nothing, right?”

“I quite agree with you, Peter,” the voice sounded proud, if that were even possible for something that was technically a machine. “We better get going, then?”

“Oh! Right,” And with that, Spider-Man dropped from his position on the wall, falling in free fall through the New York City night air, shooting and swinging from web to web as he manoeuvred himself through the block of high rise buildings, twisting around lit up office windows and narrowly missing gated metal stairs leading to tall apartment buildings with practiced accuracy. Rounding on the main and busy street, he noted the bank was a few hundred feet directly behind him.

“Got eyes on ‘em, Karen?” the kid asked, glancing around, mid swing over the moving rush hour evening traffic.

A red targeted circle appeared through his masks eye and quickly minimalised over a moving vehicle, locked and located, a few yards in front of him. The green convertible, moving precariously in between cars and showing no hint of slowing down. _Ah-ha, got ya again, too good for you_ , he thought. Enhanced reconnaissance mode automated immediately, allowing him to eavesdrop on his targets.

" _C’mon_ , dude! Can’t this heap’a crap move any faster?” the one man pleaded with the driver from the back seat, looking over his shoulder repeatedly at the road behind him, expecting blue flashing lights following them any moment, most likely.

All perpetrators were dressed in black and still wore their black, face hugging balaclava like ski masks. “Way to conform to stereotypes, guys,” the schoolboy muttered jovially under his breath, observing and snooping on them some more.

“You wanna drive, man?!” the driver returned, thick Boston accent slipping through to Peter’s ears through the coms, “tell ya what, we’ll just pull over here on the side of the busy freeway and I’ll get out and let _you_ drive, see if you can get us outta here any faster!”

The third robber sat beside the driver, looking close to snapping, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ooooh, somebody’s getting a little grumpy.” Spider-Man jibed, and with new determination he swung in the direction of the car, arms beginning to ache with the strain of this afternoons proceedings already, after spending all day studying. With a final swing and a leap once he was within reach of the car, he let go of the web he was clinging to and tucked his body into forward roll, spinning in a downwards trajectory.

“Surprise!” Within several carefully orchestrated seconds he landed in the spare seat of the moving vehicle, the bags of money cushioning his fall, sat next to the wide eyed young man he’d just overheard panicking.

“The _fuck_?!” The driver exclaimed, stealing glances backwards and in the rear-view mirror. Bozo next to him looked as equally puzzled underneath the mask, eyes contorted into a narrowed, furrowed and astounded frown.

“Wow, nice ride, man!” the fifteen year old exclaimed distractedly in mirth, eyes taking in the cool leather, the feel of it beneath his red clothed fingers.

“The hell are you? Where the fuck’d you come from?” the driver snarled, venom dropping from his words.

Spider-Man clasped his hands together in front of him, opting for his primary go to in any tough situation and figured he’d try talking it out. Gotta give the bad guys a chance, right? Not everything has to lend itself to violence. “So uh, hey guys, look, here’s the thing. I can’t let you get away with this money, it doesn’t belong to you. So, it’d be really cool if you could turn this car around and head on back to the bank? Put it back and hand yourselves over?”

The guy next to Peter yapped out a laugh, his panic seemingly abiding. Peter frowned in bother. Had he missed the punchline here? The guy’s eyes were roaming up and down his frame. “Nice onesie, what are you, twelve? Playing superhero?”

The other two cackled and snorted in derision, driver still dodging in coming cars. The sound of sirens could now be heard from behind them.

Peter grinned then, looking down at his multimillion dollar suit in appreciation, palms upturned and gesturing to himself. “Do you like it?” he asked, “Mr. Stark made it for me.”

The laughter stopped. Abruptly three pairs of eyes looked at each other nervously then back to the kid. “’Mr. Stark’?” the bozo beside the driver parroted slowly. “As in, _Tony Stark_?” 

A nod from the suited-up teenager.

“ _Iron Man_?” Another robber bit out with difficulty, glancing up at the sky in fear as if the billionaire would materialise before them in thin air.

Spider-Man nodded again, watching them all with calculating eyes.

The driver dove quickly to the right, the car wavering in-between lanes as they headed for downtown Manhattan, the empire state building lighting up like a beacon before them, the Chrysler building and the old Avengers Tower situated beside it, a flurry of police cars now catching up to them, ten or so vehicles behind, encouraging Peter into action.

“You need to pull over!” he shouted over the gust of wind hitting their faces at full force, the many other headlights and taillights blinding him with every whirling turn the old car was forced to make in the rapidly growing darkness of the autumn afternoon.

Peter tried again, strong fingers of one hand gripping to the side of the car door and the other to the back of the leather seat behind him, bracing himself. “Pull over, dude! Or I’ll have to make you guys and I’m telling you, I do _not_ want to be getting into a fist fight right now in a car this cool when I haven’t stretched properly beforehand!”

The driver gave a nod to his passenger, still whirling the car around from lane to lane, trying to shake off the cop cars trailing them. And before he could so much as blink, the man was reaching to the floor of the car, making a grab for something. Peter simultaneously heard Karen say his name in warning as he hopped up onto his legs, bringing his knees up, squatting, adrenaline pumping.

The guy brought a semiautomatic 9mm carbine face to face with him. Spider-Man started, facing down the barrel as it clocked, aimed right at him. A beat hadn’t passed before the man’s finger started to squeeze the trigger and Peter launched himself backwards, arms reaching outwards as he shot a web from both wrists, locking onto the gun and pulling his arms towards his chest, the gun flying from the man’s hands and into that of the receivers.

He didn’t wait, kicking his leg out and into the man’s stomach next to him when he sensed him move to grab his own weapon. “I’ll just take these from you guys,” he remarked airily, kindly, snatching up the other gun, a pistol, from the doubled over winded guys loose grip easily, “it’s not like you’ll be needing them where you’re going.”

Spider-Man watched from the corner of his eye as the passenger in front of him squared his jaw, removed his mask – which, ok, he hadn’t seen coming. How stupid were these guys to unmask themselves in the middle of a heist? – before moving to kneel over his seat and reach for his blue and red material covered leg.

Peter moved away with precise ease, dodging the guys forthcoming punches and instead grabbing his arm and pulling him bodily towards him.

What was it that Mr. Stark had once said to him? ‘A great _de_ fence was a great _off_ ence’, that’s right. He mused over this as the car swerved quickly to the left, other engines squealing in protest as they narrowly missed being caught in a frightening crash and horns blearing loudly in their displeasure.

Another swift swirl of the vehicle and before he or Peter could do anything to prevent it, the burglar towering over him tipped too far to the right and toppled out of the car onto the moving hood of another.

“Danny!” the guy at the side of Peter exclaimed, watching as his partner in crime grappled for purchase as the unmasked man bit back a terrified shout. Acting quickly on instinct, Peter changed the settings on his web shooters from quick fire to standard and shot a long large web over the thief, affectively gluing the guy to the hood he was scrambled upon. Said car was now breaking, the smell of burning rubber filling the air around them with thick smoke, the woman behind the wheel looking beyond overwhelmingly terrified.

The police cars caught up with them, now flanking them on either side, some stopping to apprehend the fallen criminal. And more cop cars emerged from the city as they neared the still busy business district, well known and respected Daily Bugle a few yards in front of them.

The guy next to Peter looked too furious for his liking after he’d just saved his friends life, after he tried to shoot him, no less. He held up his hands in what he hoped was a non-threatening way, white eye patches in his mask around black rims widening from their narrowed perspective, “hey man, that was totally not my fault!” he pointed to the driver, who was still doing his best to run the NY PD off the road in quick succeeded rams against the side of their cars, glaring heatedly at the young do-gooder in the rear view mirror at the same time. “Blame him, he’s driving, and not very well! Dude, did you _ever_ bother to learn the highway code?”

He was grabbed by neck and arm by the guy next to him, yanked at the scruff and thrown into the air and out of the car from behind.

Spider-Man’s gut plummeted before he heard the quiet, “activating webbed wingspan,” reach his encompassed ears. _Yes, Karen, you’re awesome, I love you!_ He triumphed mentally, spacing his arms out as he glided face down enough to stop himself crashing to the paved road, still covered with speeding and passing traffic.

Within a split second and with speed he didn’t know he possessed, he turned over and shot a web at the sky, locking it onto one of the skyscrapers and pulled himself towards it. When he was high up enough he spun round and found the Chevy easily careening carelessly towards the Chrysler building and at a rough count, fifteen separate flashing blue lights belonging to the authorities behind it.

“Looks like you need a few more lessons,” Peter jested candidly to the driver, swinging round above them and landing gently and silently on the rooftop of the nearest police car. “Seriously, how did you even get your licence in the first place?”

He acknowledged their unadulterated shock for a single instant before taking another leap into the air and bellowing an elongated, joyful, “Going up?”

Throwing some webbed netting both up at the Chrysler building and at the guy who’d thrown him from the car, he dragged him unwillingly and unceremoniously from his seated position and into the sky, with nothing more than a yelp leaving his lips.

“I’m scared of heights, _please_ , I’ll hand myself in, just put me down, you freak!” the thief shouted from below him, eyes scrunched up in terror and arms bound around his body by the super strong webbing.

Peter pursed his lips in consideration, leaving the man hanging in metaphorical and literal suspense while he mulled it over. “What do you reckon, Karen?” he pondered aloud.

The kind electronic voice answered after only a moment, “I think you shouldn’t trust him as far as you can throw him, Peter,” and so, Peter compromised. He nodded and smiled as an idea struck him.

“Sorry man, no can do. But don’t worry, they’ll be able to get you down.”

The man blinked, face still covered by the mask but eyes an expression of deepest fear, his mouth opening in silent query. He never got a chance to ask anything however, as quickly he was plummeting downwards and after what felt like an hour but was more like a few seconds, he landed on a huge spider’s web hanging between two tall city street lamp posts. Breathing heavily, he glanced up at where he’d last seen the red and blue suited person who had put him here, only to see he’d long since gone and three or four flashing cop cars were pulling up in front of him.

He scowled, “Oh, fu—”

…

 

Spider-Man swung from railing to railing, building to billboard, exerting the rest of his energy as he sped down back street after back street and a few dirty alley’s in which he knew led to the back of the old Avengers Tower, following the flashing blue lights as he went after the car as well.

Rounding a corner, he had eyes on the remaining lone robber, noting that the car was not slowing down as it neared the famous building, but speeding up.

Stomach dropping, Peter swallowed thickly as he grunted in exertion, hurrying his efforts to get to the car. Was he going to crash into the building? Was this his fault, because he’d mentioned Mr. Stark earlier? But Mr. Stark didn’t own this building anymore. He’d recently sold it. The Avengers had relocated up state. He couldn’t let that car crash into that building, whatever the cost.

“Hey uh, Karen?” he winced, not knowing how else to ask or bring this up, “how fast is that car going, exactly?”

There was a pregnant pause, and Peter wondered, not for the first time, if the mystical being of artificial intelligence could read minds.

“Fifty-nine miles per hour and counting,” she replied dutifully, if not a little apprehensive.

The teenager shrugged a shoulder absently, lips pulling into an optimistic twist. “Ok, well, that’s not so bad, I can totally—”

“It also weighs three thousand pounds,” she interrupted as an afterthought. Peter only nodded, just about listening, remaining largely hopeful, “I’ve caught worse,” he breathed, passing the police cars and catching up to the murky green speeding Chevy, deviating still from lane to lane in its divergent techniques.

“Have you ever caught anything in motion whilst you’re also in motion with a full weight capacity such as this, Peter?”

Swallowing his rising doubt and slight alarm, Peter ignored Karen’s concern and focused on the task in front of him. 

The tower was right in front of him now, the car and the bank robber only a few yards behind him. He dropped his eyes to the ground, taking in the empty lot void of vehicles and any people. The lights outside the tower were on, but no life from inside the building looked forthcoming. So, fully empty and evacuated, it seemed. That was good. Now, to stop this guy from making things worse for himself, Peter, maybe Mr. Stark and potentially everyone else within a block of them, if the guys driving was anything to go by.

He swept through the air from the web he was currently swinging on, alternating to another before dropping low to the ground, low enough to land with a soft rhythm and to take a steadying crouch. He spun around in time to catch view of the dark green Chevy speeding towards him, the drivers eyes growing astoundingly wide when he noticed who he was about to run down, blue flashing lights and the sound of sirens behind it.

Spider-Man had about only a second to take a deep breath and prepare himself to brace for the hurtling mass of metal about to hit him.

He held his arms out before him, leaning forwards and tensing automatically when the brunt strength came. His hands immediately dented the pristine hood, his feet scrambling backwards toward the main entrance of the tower, his body curling forward around the metallic frame as they moved minutely backwards. Still, he didn’t relent, rubber screeching and burning around him, pressing down more and strengthening his posture, the resounding sound of the air bag going off in front of him, protecting the driver against any lasting injuries as the car came to an abrupt and anticlimactic stop. The sheer force and speed at which it hit him winded him and an involuntary and strained yelp painfully escaped from his lips.

Smoke raised into the air, the burning fog around them lifting. Relieved and surprised masked eyes looked up, red cloth sheltered hands pushed upwards from the dented convertible. Peter took a shaky breath from his position and exhaled on an adrenaline fuelled whistle.

“Awesome,” he enthused, breathlessly dazed, happy his impulsive behaviour had for once in his life, worked out. He took a step backwards when the police, having caught up, lifted and semi dragged the concussed thief from the driver’s seat, ripping his black balaclava off and revealing the mans face. Dark, tanned skin, tired green eyes and a crooked old scar leading from his right eyebrow and trailing up, fading into his greying hair stared back at him in unambiguous shock.

Peter smiled blearily from behind his mask, still heaving long breaths of air into his stretched lungs and abused diaphragm. He nodded to himself, watching the criminal as he was hauled into the back of a police van, then glanced around the scene forming before him, taking in the crowds gathering, the children pointing at him in excitement and adults gaping, conversation buzzing and camera’s beginning to flash.

And when a few officers turned and started walking towards him, questioning glances and obviously wanting to query him, Spider-Man took another step back, his back hitting the glass panel of the grand tower behind him and left hand immediately going to his lower abs, next to his left hip, kneading with a grimace what he suspected would be a large bruise come morning.

“Time to go, what d’ya say, Karen?”

“Absolutely Peter, whatever you think is best,” she replied, voice back to full cheerfulness. He grit his teeth against the dull pain in his side, stood up tall and ran at full speed towards the police officers, watching as they bulked a little in apprehension then observed as realization hit them when he reached up and shot into the air once more, web swinging around them and pulling himself higher into the skyline, the view of the crowd growing smaller, the sound of their cheering growing distant. 

“Might I suggest we go somewhere you can get some rest? Perhaps also to look at any injuries you may have acquired? I’m detecting substantial muscle damage to your body and a considerable sprain to your right ankle,” Karen informed.

“Yeah,” Spider-Man groaned in agreement, the effort of stretching and bending in such an acrobatic way almost too much to bear right now. “Yeah, good idea. Actually…” he paused, drawled off and almost laughed at himself at the absurd irony as he oscillated about face, soaring from his web to land on the glass windows of the building he was just trying to get away from.

Breathing in instant relief as the strain deviated from his body immediately, the young hero began to climb on his hands and feet diagonally upwards toward to roof. He took his time, too, reflecting on how in a matter of minutes he could be walking home from a normal, boring day of studying to being in the position he is now. Man was Ned gonna freak when he told him about the evening he had. If he didn’t see it on the news first, if the many cameras down there were anything to go by.

Reaching the top of the prestigious old Avengers tower, Spider-Man dragged himself over the threshold with a grunt and rolled onto a large outdoor fashioned beam, closing his eyes and star fishing his beaten body with a contented sigh.

“I’ll just lay here for a bit, no biggie, rest up, then head home. Aunt May won’t even need to know a thing,” he muttered, either for his benefit or for the benefit of his suit’s companion, he wasn’t sure.

He started a moment later and blinked groggily however when he heard the slightly electronic constricted voice, close in proximity warn him, “You seem to be fairly exhausted and have endured a few wounds and damages after today’s affairs, Peter. I’m not sure passing out in the middle of fall in the evening at this height would be wise if you can help it.”

Peter smiled dozily when hearing Karen’s voice. Oh, what would he do without her? Where would he be, even? Peter didn’t want to find out. “We did good, K,” he told her ruefully, feeling the tell tail spits of rainfall begin to drop down from the sky and onto him, “and I’m ok, promise, I just…” his voice wavered, body shivered and eyes started to drift shut seemingly on their own accord.

“…Just need a minute…” his eyes closed and all tension left the kids body before he had a chance to see the flickering red light in the inside corner of his masks eye, Karen activating the S.O.S homing beacon, sending out a signal in his suit after she’d noticed the boys core temperature had dropped significantly.

…

“You know, you need actual snow to make a snow angel there, young buck,”

Peter jerked from his place on the beam, consciousness and activated warmth flooded into him simultaneously. He let out a belated and terse puff of air at the feeling of heat radiating through and around him, eyes opening and searching for the source.

He saw Iron Man floating in suspension before him, red in colour and titanium alloy glimmering, gold plating as intimidating and no less impressive as ever, every time he saw it.

“Thanks,” the kid breathed, referring to the heating system the engineer had put in his suit, wry grin appearing and lifting a finger to point at the metal encased genius, “you really have to show me how you do that one of these days.”

“One of these days, I hope I never have to,” Stark countered, an edge in his voice that Peter was regrettably becoming able to identify as concern shadowed by brash irritation.

He winced, moving his hand to rub at his forearm as he started to realize he must’ve messed up somehow. It was considerably darker around them now, and Peter knew he must’ve passed out at some point after he’d reached the top of the tower, despite his intentions to just have a little nap and rest up. He noted warily however that he felt a lot better, the bruising littering his body having started to heal, his abilities having started to kick in whilst he was out cold, allowing his body to start repairing itself.

Spider-Man lifted himself up into a squat, testing his muscles to find them lingering in residual pain but nothing a few good stretches couldn’t fix, and asked the age old question, “Mr. Stark, what are you doing here?”

Tony seemed to drop his concern and annoyance for the time being for they bantered a little, and after both parties were situated into a standing position in front of each other on top of the roof and the older males faceplate was retracted, he said to him, exasperated fondness and with little pride, “nice work with bank robbers, kid.”

To which Peter pulled off his Spider-Man mask, dark hair having mixed with rainfall and sweat, now falling into his eyes as blinked bashfully and smiled in response. “Thanks, Mr. Stark,”

Stark nodded, small little smile towing at the corner of his lips as he eyed the teenager then, one brow rising and cheekily granting, “of course, you’d be toast once _again_ if Karen hadn’t had sent me,” he stated, then rubbing his beard with a red metal gloved thumb and forefinger, voice pondering playfully, he asked, “tell me Mr. Parker, do I need to put your training wheels back on?”

Peter’s eyes widened, in his exhaustion he must’ve missed Tony’s joking tone, for his smile dropped and mouth fell, his hands waving out in front of him in disagreement, his words rushing out like a tsunami striking before he could gather control of himself.

“No, no of course not Mr. Stark! I didn’t mean to fall asleep, it was an accident, I was just resting before I went back home and Aunt May—"

Peter paused abruptly, his eyes twitching in remembrance, recognition and then anxiety, playing out like flash cards for Tony to read on his face. “What’s the time?” he begged quickly, looking to his wrist and frowning when he saw the red and blue patterned suit staring back at him, but no wristwatch.

With a sinking dread filling his stomach and lining his chest, he dragged his eyes back up to the Avenger, head shaking with guilt and remorse and pulled his mask back on into place. “Mr. Stark, my aunt, it’s late… I have to get home, she’ll freak if I’m not back before ten on a school night.”

The engineer grinned complacently, almost bored, “Way ahead o’ ya, kid. I already got Happy to give her a call,”

Peter stopped flurrying about in an instant, brow furrowing behind the mask in confusion when he stared dumbfoundedly at the billionaire.

Tony must’ve taken his standing still and silence as the same thing, for he continued with a disinterested wave of his gauntlet enclosed hand, “told him to tell her you were helping me with some last minute projects, strictly confidential to the internship and essential to Stark Industries that they were completed by tonight, very hush-hush.”

The fifteen year old hesitated briefly before he breathed a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping a little in reprieve.

“It’s also around eight forty-five, by the way, so you’re in the all clear,” Tony specified, then, pointedly, as if in afterthought added a sharp, “as of yet,” leaving no room for misinterpretation of his meaning.

Spider-Man gulped, anticipation clinging to his stance.

“Mr. Stark, I—”

“Contrary to popular wide spread belief, you know I _don't_ actually have a death wish,” Tony interjected, “well, much, most of the time,” he babbled in stuttered addition, thinking past his own reckless behaviour, the drinking and impulsive decisions he makes in the midst of battle. “The point I'm trying to make here, Underoos, is that you need to take better care of yourself after going a few rounds.”

Tony frowned, scratching his head and thinking of the best way to put his words across without sounding too alike his old man. He wasn’t actually the boys father, granted, but sue him if he didn’t feel a little or a lot responsible and compassion for the kid at times. He got him wrapped up in this, he was the one who made his suit and knew what it was capable of and able to withstand.

Hell, he who meddles should be able to take the medley, right?

“I know _I_ do stupid stuff,” he allowed, before Peter could jump in and call him a hypocrite, “but I always have back up when I do it. You didn’t have any tonight.”

“I have Karen,” Parker alluded, sounding fiercely loyal and a little put out and embarrassed by the older man’s placating advice, but not at all disrespectful.

“Yeah, I know kid, I designed her. And the best she can do is alert me when you’ve decided to go and risk becoming a red and blue star spangled mixed mess of road kill omelette unnecessarily, and slash or, are dying of hypothermia on a rooftop in the rain miles from any known allies,” the genius scoffed. “I’ll bring some salt and seasoning with me next time shall I? Maybe I can salvage whatever’s left of you and have you for breakfast.”

“I didn’t need backup to deal with a few bank robbers,” Peter said avidly.

“No,” Stark agreed, turning piercing brown eyes to him, jaw set, “no, you didn’t.” He took a few short steps towards the teen, metal encased feet resounding on the paved balcony, “you needed back up the moment you decided to take on three thousand pounds of solid metal hurtling steadfast towards you at nearly seventy miles per hour.”

Peter grimaced at that, posture slumping slightly. _When you put it that way…_ He dropped his head, nodded.

“Look, Peter, you did good, you did.” Tony grasped the kids shoulder, gave it a slight squeeze. “I’m just saying watch your after care. We all need a little TLC when we’ve taken a pretty bad blow. And don’t take any gratuitous risks when you can avoid it in the first place.”

He dropped his hand, watching as the red concealed head raised once more, the black rimmed, white eyes of the suit narrowing to fit on and take in his expression. Tony smirked then, “no more sleeping on rooftops too, boss’ orders, Spider-Boy. And I don’t actually own this building anymore, so if some hell bent criminal intending to take his own life wants to take out a few windows in the process whilst he’s at it, I say carry on.” He clapped theatrically, “don’t let the pristine, marble edged expensive Italian glass shatter your ass on the way out.”

Peter chucked timidly as he listened to his mentor ramble, felt exhaustion creep into his young body with startling realization. He couldn’t hold back a yawn as he laughed at Tony’s commentary. The other man noticed. And before he had a chance to apologise for any unintentional offence possibly caused, the man carried on, without missing a beat.

“You’re right, it _is_ getting a bit late. No doubt will be your bedtime soon.”

He put his armour clad arm around the boy, guiding him to the edge of the rooftop, over to the ridge, the large ‘A’ for Avengers standing out for miles without being lit up. Iron Man’s gold faceplate slid back down into place with a very resounding and familiar metallic clink.

“C’mon kid, I’ll take you back to the facility. You’ve still got a room, your own quarters. Can rest up, grab a change of clothes. No way will we find that thing you call a backpack down a dark alley dressed like this at this hour and still maintain an inconspicuous image, unless you want the Bugle’s best and brightest pencil pusher photographers crawling all over those streets trying to nab a few pictures of your saucy, spandex covered self to publish all over their front pages?”

Peter wanted to protest, took a step backwards and shook his head. Tony held up a hand, silencing him before he could speak. “So it’s settled then, let’s get outta here. Then Happy’ll take you home,” Tony rolled his eyes and added after reading the boy like a book, mask or no, “you won’t miss school tomorrow.”

Peter really did like the sound of that, he must admit. Plus he was far too tired by now to argue with the man, as if he would anyway. He nodded, blinked through his weariness and turned his head to gaze at the iron figure. “Ok, that sounds real good, Mr. stark, thanks.”

Iron Man’s only response was to step up behind him, grip him securely under the armpits and activate the heat thrusters on his back and under his feet, the force beginning to lift the pair gently into the air and off of the solitary tower.

“Yeah, it’ll be great, you’re gonna love it. Finally see what the life is like and all that. Vision’s continuously a little ray of sunshine, walking through the walls when you’re in the middle of a shower or working on vastly complicated thermonuclear experiments.”

He pushed them in a forwards momentum, headed away from Manhattan and towards up state, pacing in a flurry past skyscrapers and blinkering lights, Spider-Man dangling in his iron grip.

“Government mandated do-gooder assassin, Agent Thighs of Doom is back from another ‘classified, need-to-know’ mission with a few scrapes and bruises, so you know, you’ll see her moping about the pool probably if you decide to go down there for a swim, but I’d avoid going near her for a while if you know what’s good for you. It’s the guy who did that to her, I feel sorry for.” Stark continued with his update, amusement in his tone then, as if he’d just thought of something. “Do you even swim, kiddo? Know how?”

Peter nodded, red suited and booted feet dangling over the nightly lit New York City skyline. “Course, yeah, well, I mean, I can swim alright,” he confirmed with a little shrug, swinging his legs a little in the sky as Iron Man carried them over the Hudson river. “I liked Miss Romanoff from what I saw of her when I met her briefly before at the airport, I think we’ll get on,” the student suggested, throwing it out there precariously, in slight question to the older man.

Stark barked a laugh, looking down at Peter for a second. Natasha didn’t strike him or anyone who knew her as someone who would be great with kids. But then, she’d surprised the hell out of him with how she was with Barton’s. And Peter was older than them. Not to mention Tony himself wasn’t too bad a job at being around, interacting and occasionally caring for the kid. So maybe he had a point there. Maybe the two of them would hit it off just fine.

But still, the temptation was dangling before him literally and figuratively with such strength he couldn’t deny it with all his might, so he relented and said, “not all of us have super Spidey senses as good as yours, you know. Guess we’ll have to wait to find out. And word of the wise, young buck, black widows are widely known for eating itsy bitsy spiders.”

Spider-Man tensed then in Iron Man’s strong grasp, weariness and nerves abundantly apparent, coming off of him in waves.

Iron Man beamed, ordered Friday to play some music from the coms speakers and delighted when AC/DC began to play audibly, _Shoot To Thrill_ as they shot through the dark sky and headed towards the Avengers Facility.


End file.
